Hey, baby girl (I won’t be able to call you that for much longer!):

Just over a year ago, we were all anxiously awaiting your arrival–your parents most eagerly of all. A week after your due date, you still showed no inclination to make your debut. Your Oma and Auntie April had flown out from Indiana for a visit, with the intention of helping with the new baby. Instead, they hung out with your extremely pregnant Mommy through those final uncomfortable days.

On Tuesday evening, your mom went for a hike, hoping the exertion might trigger labor. But she went to bed that night feeling that her recalcitrant baby was no closer to birth than before.

Around 2 a.m. (if I have my time right) Wednesday morning, you woke her up, and she knew you were ready to arrive. Your daddy drove her to the hospital, with Oma following in her rental car. Auntie April stayed with your big brother, who had just turned two. By 5:30 a.m. you’d rushed into the world, eight pounds and change, delivered by the emergency room doctor because you were in such a hurry that you weren’t about to wait for the OB-GYN. In fact, your delivery happened so quickly that you had a bit of trouble breathing at first, but you were soon healthy and robust.

Your grandma and I drove out that afternoon to meet you. We, along with Oma and Auntie April, were present when your dad brought your brother to see you for the first time. He lifted your brother onto the hospital bed, and your mom tilted you up so he could look at your face. “This is your new baby sister,” she told him. He said, “Hi. I love you,” and leaned over to kiss your cheek. (There was a collective “Awww!” from all of us, of course!)

You were a cheerful baby with a smile that, from the beginning, you’ve readily endowed on just about anyone with whom you come in contact. Your mom’s friends dubbed you “the Gerber baby” because of your enormous blue eyes and chubby cheeks. You had the fattest, cutest baby thighs, although now that you’re crawling everywhere you’ve started to slim down. When we’d go out to eat or shopping, people would comment to your mom about how adorable you were. You’re an exquisitely beautiful girl with a disposition to match.

That’s not to say you’re a pushover. I wondered whether, with two notoriously stubborn parents (at their wedding reception, one of your grandparents’ friends told how, when your mom lived in Liberia as a toddler, your Opa would dip her into the water barrels to calm her down when she threw temper tantrums!) and a strong-willed brother, you’d be meek and self-effacing. Ha! You may have the strongest, most determined personality of them all.

You’re very persistent. You know what you want, and you’ll do whatever you can to get it. You learned to climb stairs quickly when you wanted to join your brother at the top of the staircase. You diligently tried to crawl until you mastered the art. If something–either an object or a goal–is out of your reach physically, you’ll emit this sort of whiny grunt designed to bend everyone else to your will.

You’re also fearless. Your brother refuses to go down slides because they scare him; you need no coaxing at all. You like to climb and explore and investigate. Last week, I was sitting on the sofa with my laptop, creating a PowerPoint for my class the next day. Suddenly you’d pulled yourself up next to me, eager to help type. (Your mom and grandma were pretty impressed; apparently you’ve only succeeded in getting yourself onto sofas before when your infinitely patient dog has allowed you to use him as a step-stool.)

You adore your big brother. Throughout your life, he’s been able to cheer you up, sometimes when no one else can. He makes you laugh. He’s taught you how to ROAR; today, your dad called to talk to Grandma, and she thought you were both crying in the background because you were so loud. “No,” your dad said, laughing, “they’re roaring at each other.” You have the typical sibling issues, of course–jealousy and trouble with sharing–but you love each other very much and seem to genuinely enjoy spending time together. Your mom often says, “I’m so glad they love each other so much!”

You’re very affectionate, and you bestow awesome hugs both on people you love and on your dollies. At your birthday party, I asked you for a hug, and you put your arms around my neck and rested your head on my shoulder for a surprisingly long time. You’re a little charmer, engaging with the world around you, beaming at people who succumb to the inevitable temptation to coo and chatter at you. You talk back; “lalalalala” and “babababa” are among your favorite noises.

Last week, I decided to try to nap on the sofa while you and your brother played nearby. I heard you chattering merrily, and then the noise stopped and I heard instead an eager panting and the sound of your palms and knees smacking the floor. I opened an eye just in time to see your head appear over the edge of the sofa, a mischievous grin on your face. When I smiled, you poked your little finger with its sharp nail into my mouth, scratching at the back of my throat. Then you pressed on my nose, so I honked. You thought that was hilarious. After pushing my nose five or six times, you returned to the Fisher-Price toys you’d been playing with, and I returned to my attempt to sleep. I had nearly dropped off when, with impeccable timing, your chatter stilled again and I heard a subdued giggle and the patter of high-speed crawling. I opened my eyes, and there you were, ready to repeat the pattern of pressing my nose. I don’t know how many times you did this–waited until I was nearly asleep to come over and play with my face–but how could I mind? You’re so precious and so fun and so delightful, and I’m overjoyed at the privilege of being one of the people you choose to engage and play with and love.